DAILY ROUTINE: Not so ordinary days

There is always something,

I do every day,

 But not that same routine all the way.

On Sundays, I am like a cool breeze

Counting square of tiles,

Walking smoothly on carpets,

But no worries to run into any race,

Just like a soft pizza base

That bakes and flakes at its own pace.

I am rolled up sleeves of oversized shirts

That takes a seat to window sills

To feel the morning dew and zeal.

On Mondays, I am like a rushing rail

That turns pyjamas into white collars,

Boils the milk, take a sip with crunchy cookies,

Flip pages of newspapers

To know the lines of market

And read editorial phrases,

For a reason to learn.

On Tuesdays, though

 I am the mediocrity of 9 to 7,

I come home to unmade beds,

Phone my best friends and

Cancel candle light dinner plans

For endless giggle and

Tinkering nights.

On Wednesdays, I attend meetings

With my free-lanced clients,

At overpriced cafes and wonder if

I’ll ever find a long term client.

I am formally dressed with tough blazer,

Plain stockings and a diary in hand.

Those normal days, I take a sneak peak to beaches

To rest and relax but overthink with my future.

Then those cool breezy waves touch my feet,

Blow my hair and make me feel,

I am more than what I think,

And can do more than what I feel.

Thursdays, not so ordinary day,

Hit my alarm, pose for yoga,

Walk to the garden,

Talk to my roses and lilies,

That my grand ma raised.

I laugh and play,

Shh! It’s a secret garden,

Where I stand and stay.

Also, Attend Skype and group calls,

Note my task for the day,

Work and then take a break,

To paint my walls,

With some glitter and rays.

With an ending night,

I bake apricot raisin cakes,

With a drizzle of nutella

To accompany my books,

With some yummy, tasty looks.

On Fridays, I dance with loud music,

Coz, it’s the end of weekdays,

Twist some wax, pipe up candles

With those fairy lights

That are always there on my way.

It’s beautiful to adore the moon,

With black tea on hand

Feeling as if its creamy white circle.

On Saturdays, I have Skype chats with my mother,

And an art therapy with my cat,

Go for shopping and get some breads,

But then this is the day,

Where I write eulogies for myself,

Rhyme for my play

And mumble childish words

Just for the sake of play and slay.

I am totally childlike this day,

To hold on my nostalgic emotions

And appraise how much I am worthy and brave.

From cartoons till clay game,

I run, hop, twirl across the board,

Then jump over the marked one,

Make foams in bath tub,

And count the pores of it,

With this I lift my little insider child,

Cherish my day completely with myself

To preserve my art and lovely twinkling heart.